Like Montagues and Capulets
by Gingerbread Owl
Summary: Draco and Harry have always hated each other and it's on display to the whole world. But beneath the open insults and abuse, a darker, more dangerous feeling lies. Slash.


_This is another fic(!)  
__DEDICATED TO VIKKI  
__Who first pointed out the obviousness of Drarry to this previously innocent H.P. fan_

Disclaimer: I don't own either Draco or Harry, which I suppose is a good thing because, alas, I could never write as well as JK Rowling.

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**LIKE MONTAGUES AND CAPULETS**

They hated each other like Montagues and Capulets. A deep rooted, intense burning hate that threw forth the desire to cause pain, humiliation, fear. But lurking beneath the insults and threats, the glares and the brutal blows lay a guilty love that they were both aware of and terrified them to the pits of their souls. The excruciating mortification should the other discover such a forbidden feeling kept them awake in the pitch black of night, tossing and turning in their beds, each creak of the bed-frame making them shiver with a lonely longing. The dim light of a candle could not penetrate the darkness nor banish the fears and that caused them to shift uneasily and the mattress to groan beneath their weary bodies, craving sleep, aching with a desire they could not control or deny. The time when they had tried to deny these feelings had long passed and now only a fear that these dark thoughts might be discovered tormented them. An insatiable hunger, a desperate ache, a yearning in their hearts and in their very bones. They trembled at the thought of a touch, shivered at the thought of a whispered name…

Curses and uttered threats, promises of pain and suffering, physical abuse, fights, blows. These were all they had. The only chance to touch the other and to know that they could feel something real, something physical, something more than this mental torture. Something solid and human, so soft and so easily damaged. A bruise to mar the perfect pale skin, a black eye to frame a green or steely grey eye. Violent red gashes, swollen bloody mouths and dislocated shoulders. Pain was good. Pain was real. The bruised flesh and broken bones made them feel alive; it was a comfort to know that somewhere they had left a mark on the skin of the other; a symbol and reminder. _I exist. Remember me. See me. _

Then one day it all changed. It started with a fight just like every other they had fought before. The usual struggle for dominance, the usual desire to make the other suffer for the pain they had caused inside. They were alone, rolling down the hill in a flurry of scuffled blows and leaves. Eyes ablaze with anger, smouldering with a fiery hate. They came to a halt at the bottom and Draco ended up on top, glaring down into the eyes of his enemy. _Just the way it should be, _they had both thought and then felt furious for allowing such a treacherous thought to slip unbidden into their mind. They fought again but neither shifted position. Then something inside them snapped and they felt the change. The pushing changed to grabbing, movements at once both urgent and unsure. Their faces were so close and at last the fear of rejection vanished as though it had never existed. The furious passion unleashed itself as they claimed the mouth of the other in an urgent kiss.

It was needy and desperate, reckless and dangerous, trying to console themselves and banish the desolate longing. They clutched each other to their chests fearfully, acutely, as though they were trying to grasp reality, because they had such a fragile hold on sanity that they were afraid that at any minute it would slip away and plunge them once more into a world of darkness and doubt. Because now… now they were so sure that the other felt the same. Those kisses didn't lie. Each tongue stroke, every breath betrayed the long subdued passion and they both knew that from this moment on the world had changed and that everything they thought they knew to be true about themselves and the other would prove false. They wouldn't have to lie to each other anymore because they had fallen too far for that.

The Boy who Lived and the Death Eater lay together on the grass, weary but content. Tentatively the dark haired boy reached out and took the hand of his companion and they lay together for a long time before wandering back to the castle, ready to pretend and to lie to the world. But behind locked doors and down dark passage ways they found their refuge and somewhere beneath the tangled web of confused love and passion the hate still burned, dark and dangerous and content to wait until the time came when they would betray the one they loved for what they believed to be right.

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Reviews would be greatly appreciated! 


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